Sixteen Horses by Greg Buchanan (readict TXT) 📕

They knew a lot about the case. The wife didn’t seem too upset, either.’

‘I’ll meet you there?’

‘I’m sick. Not going in.’

‘You’re sick?’ Alec raised an eyebrow. No one could see.

‘Fuck you. I’m sick.’

‘. . . OK, fine. You’re sick.’ The row of amusement arcades juddered to life as they spoke, lights beginning to blink, music beginning to reach out towards the sea.

‘You still coming to my barbecue?’

‘I thought you were sick.’

‘That’s why I need rest.’ George yawned. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

‘You’ve got flu and you’re going to handle food for a barbecue you’re doing in November?’

‘I don’t have to explain myself to you.’

Alec sighed, stretching in his car seat. His whole body ached from poor sleep. ‘Want me to bring anything?’

‘A personality.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

An hour passed. Their little empty world lurched to life.

Alec sipped his chocolate milkshake and waited for his coffee. He stared out at the islands and watched the sun rise over the sea.

Beyond breakfast, there was not much reason for Alec to come here. The call-outs were few. The odd couple having sex in the dark. Addicts leaving needles in the sand. Nothing that need concern the police, stretched thin as they were.

He wondered if a place could remember.

A boat moved across the water.

He’d ordered for Cooper already. She’d messaged to say she’d be late. How, when her hotel was ten minutes’ walk away, he did not know. Overslept, maybe.

‘How d’you want your eggs?’ the waitress called over.

‘Fried.’ He paused, tapping his fingers against the table. He tilted his head. ‘No, wait . . . scrambled.’

The waitress relayed the instruction to the cook, who seemed never to be allowed to leave his small vent at the back. She then got back to setting up, getting out menus from behind the counter. An ornamental dog, a great red, white and blue cash register, and a toy sports car sat as landmarks upon the long blue surface, punctuated by cutlery holders and ketchup bottles. The diner was American themed, in the loosest way possible.

‘You working on the horses?’ the waitress asked, three tables away.

Alec nodded. He was the only customer in the room. She didn’t normally ask about work. ‘Why?’

‘People are talking about it.’ She put a ketchup bottle on his table and kept moving.

‘How?’

‘With their mouths.’

Alec rolled his eyes. ‘Anything specific?’

‘I heard . . .’

‘What?’

‘One of the heads was, you know . . . human.’

He scowled. ‘No.’

He’d woken up earlier and earlier lately, taking any morning calls he could. He’d been finding it hard to get to sleep, and to stay asleep.

Waiting for Simon to wake up, to watch the boy eat his cereal, to see him out the front door, it wasn’t needed any more, and coming to realize that, it was a sign of the end. Soon he’d move out, he’d be off to university and more. Soon Alec could just be himself again, he’d have his own space again. Life would be life once more. Maybe that was terrible to think. He didn’t know.

Maybe other parents felt that way, too.

Maybe everyone felt that way about everyone they loved, on some level.

Maybe he was utterly, profoundly alone.

And when he ate these breakfasts by himself, he’d read a newspaper, sometimes. He’d eat each bit of the meal together, stuffing egg fragments onto clumps of sausage, then spearing a tiny bit of bacon beneath, topping it off with flakes of black pudding.

This is what he was doing as the bell rang on the door, as Cooper hurried in. She almost crashed into the waitress.

‘Sorry!’ Cooper said, her eyes glancing fleetingly at both of them as she sat down. Her breakfast followed.

‘How’d you sleep?’

Cooper took her purple coat off and unwound her grey scarf. ‘Rough. Think I twisted my neck – slept on it funny, I don’t know.’ She picked up the mug of coffee from the table and before Alec could say anything, she drank it, pulling a face as she did so. ‘Ugh. Not very warm.’

‘It was mine,’ Alec said, quietly. ‘I was waiting for it to get colder . . .’

‘Oh.’ She grimaced. ‘Er . . .’

‘It’s OK.’ He turned to the waitress and asked for more.

They talked through Cooper’s findings. Decapitation had been performed with a combination of a knife and wire – most likely a fetotomy wire. The theory that two or more people were involved was supported by the different proficiencies with which the heads had been severed.

‘Why both?’

‘The knife wouldn’t get through the bone. But it could cut their throats. It could immobilize them, it could give you enough grip into the skin and soft tissue for the wire to work. And what we’re talking about, it’s a veterinary tool.’

Alec paused. ‘So whoever did this might have had a farming background, or worked with animals, maybe.’

Cooper hesitated. ‘Possibly. I—’

‘Likely they’d know the horses were sedated,’ he carried on, cutting her off. ‘They would know how to handle them, and where all the horses were.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Someone local then, involved in local life. How hard would it have been to use these tools?’

‘It would have taken whoever did it around ten minutes per head, if they were strong enough, and if they managed to keep the horses still, which would have been a feat enough in itself . . .’ Cooper finished her beans. She ate each part of her breakfast in methodical sequence, not mixing anything at all. ‘Maybe more than ten minutes, then. I don’t know.’

The waitress came and collected their plates, obviously taking her time and trying to listen. They sat in silence until she left.

‘So we’re not looking at an axe-wielding, frothing-from-the-mouth psychopath. Someone more deliberate than that.’ Alec finished his coffee. ‘How were the vets, when you spoke to them?’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘The director, Frank, he was a little . . . well, he was abrasive, but a lot of partners are. The only other vet I spoke to there was Kate – she was a bit timid, worked with a few of the animals. Neither came across strangely.’

‘Hm.’ Alec watched as the waitress left through the kitchen door. ‘We should speak to them